


this great and wide sea

by doxian



Series: Sports Winter Anime Games (SWAG) 2016 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Danger Kink, Dragonfucking, Dragons, Fictional Religion & Theology, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Sports Winter Anime Games (2016), UshiShira Week, extreme size difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: When Ushijima arrives, it's in the form of the night's void collapsing in on itself to form a whirlpool, and a massive roar that threatens to split Shirabu's skull.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the first draft of this was originally written for this prompt for SWAG last year:
>
>> FHQ. Ushijima is a dragon, and he's very interested in Shirabu. Sloppy thorough licking with rough dragon tongue and dick grinding commences. (Consensual, please.)
> 
> i wasn't very happy with it, but ushishira week (particularly [day 4: AUs](http://ushishiraweek.tumblr.com/post/156964796547/ushishira-week-day-4-were-accepting-all)) finally pushed me to rewrite it. 
> 
> not sure how to tag for this, but Shirabu fantasizes a bit about Ushijima hurting him (nothing graphic though) and there's some rimming but, again, it's very brief

Shirabu loses count of how many times he almost trips as he makes his way down the hill to the coast. The night sky is lit up with starlight, but it's not quite bright enough for him to see clearly, and the leather sandals strapped to his feet don't have enough traction to prevent him from slipping and sliding on the smooth rubble of pebbles underfoot. 

When he finally makes it to the bottom of the hill, he shoves aside overgrown shrubbery and shuffles through long grass that tickles his legs until there's nothing but soft, powdery sand under his feet. He kicks his sandals off, carrying them in one hand throughout the rest of the short walk to the beach. The waters are calmer than he expected, sloshing gently against the shore, but the waves are so pitch black that they seem to bleed into the sky; both sea and space blending together into a vast, deep void pinpricked with milk white stars.

Shirabu lifts the imposing heft of his pack from his shoulders and sets it down on the sand. The offerings are plentiful this time, a reflection of the village's abundant harvest: a whole, barbecued suckling pig; oranges, and many other fruits besides; flowers in full bloom along with their leafy green stalks. Shirabu could have done well to ask someone else to accompany him to help shoulder the load, but he never did want to ask. This task - privilege, really - is his to enact all on his own.

He leaves the pack for now, setting it against a sturdy-looking rock. This is the most arduous part of the ritual: gathering driftwood along the beach that's dry enough to stoke into a bonfire. Shirabu manages, eventually, striking a flame with the flint in his bag that he fans into a conflagration. The offerings he removes from their careful wrappings and commits them to the flames, where they're burnt away into nothing but cinders and harsh, dark smoke that makes Shirabu cough whenever the wind blows it in his direction. 

When Ushijima arrives, it's in the form of the night's void collapsing in on itself to form a whirlpool, and a massive roar that threatens to split Shirabu's skull. A stately head emerges from the churning waves, followed by a long, sinuous body covered in reflective blue-silver scales. The wings spreading open on his back are somewhat like fins, and his mouth is full of spiny, jagged teeth not unlike those of an anglerfish. When he speaks, his sonorous, penetrating voice seems to make the very ground shake. 

"Good evening, Shirabu," the dragon rumbles, steam emanating from his nostrils and hissing past the whiskers surrounding his maw. He slithers closer to Shirabu, sending sand flying behind the both of them. 

Shirabu straightens from the deep kowtow he'd lowered himself into as soon as Ushijima had emerged, brushing the sand from his forehead.

"Hello, Ushijima-sama," he says. He runs a hand gently over a section of Ushijima's massive body, rubbing the tough, slippery scales. Ushijima has to be at least ten times his size; it's like a kitten trying to pet its owner. "The past few months have been prosperous for us. Thank you."

Ushijima hums in a considering sort of way, coiling up the lower part of his body on the sand, resting his head on top.

"You should be thanking yourselves for your hard work," he says - not _speaking_ , exactly. His voice thrums through his body, seeming almost to emanate from the very core of the planet itself.

Before Shirabu met Ushijima - before he even knew him by his name, but merely by titles like _the great dragon, the ocean-snake_ \- he expected him to be many things, but modest was never one of them. It's just not a quality he generally associated with divine, nigh-immortal monsters. 

"Maybe, but we wouldn't have been able to do it without your protection."

This time, Ushijima bows his head in acceptance. As a land guardian, Ushijima plays no small part in keeping the archipelago that Shirabu calls home safe. As a fertility deity, there's no question that he'd contributed to the continued success of their crops, too. 

Shirabu regards him: a living mountain. He's paid the village's respects to Ushijima plenty of times by now, but he can still remember the first time as clear as day. Countless spectacular artist's renditions had done next to nothing to prepare him for the terrifying beauty of the real thing.

He'd thought for a moment that Ushijima was going to eat him. It's a shameful memory, and his reaction was an idle, foolish one that makes no sense to him now, faced with the steady, gentle beast before him. 

There was a time, though, when the village's perception of Ushijima was that of a monster come to life from the scary stories told to children around fires before bedtime. While Ushijima might be ageless, he hadn't spent the entirety of his existence in the same part of the world, and Shirabu had been old enough to remember when he'd first taken up residence in their little collection of islands. He'd been considered a threat, at first. A fiend to be annihilated. But, over time, the islands' inhabitants had come to understand that Ushijima was a benevolent force, not a destructive one.

There had come a point in Shirabu's childhood where he'd stopped vowing to become a powerful fighter when he grew up. There had come a point where, instead of chanting war songs under his breath, he'd fallen asleep murmuring prayers of thanks for life-bringing rain and potent earth, or reciting the passages from the small library of lore and records that had been slowly growing encounter after encounter. Like the rest of the village, Shirabu grew to love the dragon that lived under their waters and that graced the vaulted arch of their sky. 

When his predecessor, Semi, had informed Shirabu that he'd been selected to continue in his place, Shirabu had felt like his entire life had lead up to that moment. 

And now here he is, conferring with a piece of history.

Ushijima uncoils himself, circling around Shirabu until he's near enough to touch, again. Shirabu reaches out, running his fingers methodically along the scales, marvelling at their ethereal glow and at the dangerous beauty of Ushijima's claw, tipped with sharp silver talons almost as long as Shirabu's arm, moving softly in the sand only a few steps away from where Shirabu is sitting. Ushijima is emitting a faint yet insistent purr that sounds almost affectionate.

And then, suddenly, Ushijima's face is very, very close. Close enough that Shirabu could probably count every single razor-sharp, wire-like whisker around Ushijima's mouth, if he wanted to. 

Ushijima puts out his tongue - bright, blood red and flattened and _long_. It slides up over Shirabu's body and pushes, nudging him over, Ushijima's smooth body coming up behind him to break his fall. With a yell that turns into a laugh, Shirabu slides down the wall of scales to hit the sand, the tongue still pressing insistently against him, wet and slimy along his chest and stomach and between his legs.

"Wait," Shirabu says, winded. "Let me take my clothes off, first." 

He's fairly certain that _this_ aspect of his visits, Semi never did.

He hurriedly shrugs out of his tunic, kicks off his pants and underwear. Ushijima waits for him patiently, his breath all brine and kelp and live things. Limpets cling to his gums and between his teeth. 

Once Shirabu is naked, the tongue slides all the way down his body and back up again, rubbing against him until he's at full hardness and has to forcefully restrain himself from grinding upwards. 

"Why are you holding back?" Ushijima intones. Shirabu can feel Ushijima's words against his belly and running down along his limbs. 

"I'm - _mmm_ \- not," Shirabu gasps, squirming against the sand.

Ushijima withdraws his tongue from Shirabu's body. Very pointedly, with just the tip, he licks between his legs and over his dick, then down along his ass, tasting him. His cool breath ghosts across Shirabu's exposed, overheated skin. Irritatingly, now that he's staring right into the depths of Ushijima's throat, Shirabu is very cognizant of the fact that Ushijima could swallow him whole, or take a part of him. An arm, or a foot. But it isn't something Ushijima would ever do, and Shirabu forces himself to stop thinking about it, wilfully ignoring how the non-existent danger makes his dick ache where it strains against his stomach. 

All Shirabu can see of the beach now is the writhing, shining scales surrounding him and the dark, moonless sky. He closes his eyes. Ushijima's tongue pushes into his ass, briefly, but even the breadth of just the tip of him is almost too much for Shirabu to take, the stretch making him groan. Thankfully, Ushijima moves to lick over Shirabu's cock again, stroke after stroke, bearing down upon him heavily. Shirabu lets himself move his hips against the cold roughness of it. He's very aware of the dragon's claw scritching in the sand not so very far away. What that single claw could do to him if Ushijima set it down in the wrong place. The mere edge of it could piece the meat and bone and sinew of Shirabu's thigh as if it were nothing but fat. 

"What are you thinking about?" Ushijima rumbles. 

"You," Shirabu chokes out, weakly. He flings a leg over the undulating muscle, pressing himself against it urgently. Allows his body to be worshipped by a god.

Ushijima's tongue slides against Shirabu's balls, against a sensitive line of nerves spanning the crest of his dick, and the pure pleasure of it builds and takes Shirabu completely. 

After what feels like hours, Shirabu comes back to himself, shuddering, his back and hair covered in sand and his front covered in fluids. Ushijima's face is still in front of him, though he's put away his tongue, and the purring has returned, louder and more content, now. In spite of Shirabu looking like a sea-swept mess, Ushijima is regarding him with what almost looks like reverence.

Through sheer force of will, Shirabu struggles to sit up, dazed, his breath still fluttering in his ribcage. 

"It's almost dawn," Ushijima says. It takes a second for his point to sink in. 

"Oh," Shirabu says. He's not sure he has it in him to move at the moment, and everything within him is urging him to curl up next to Ushijima and doze off to the regular rhythm of the dragon's heart beat, but he's supposed to only be gone a night. He'll have to make the trek back before sunrise. 

"I'll look forward to our next meeting," says Ushijima, starkly formal yet unerringly earnest at the same time. 

"So will I." 

Almost reluctantly, Ushijima unwinds himself from around Shirabu and slinks back towards the ocean. He dives with a splash like a miniature tsunami, flicking his tail behind him as he goes. Then he sinks back into the waves and the night is still again. 

Shirabu takes the time to wash in the water as best he can, puts his sandy, sodden clothes back on. As he makes the return journey he's already counting out the days when he'll have to pay tribute to Ushijima again.

**Author's Note:**

> _so is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts._
> 
> \- Psalms 104:25
> 
> _upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear._
> 
> \- Job 41:33


End file.
